As he pulled Lafitte away, Leoni glanced at Adele. “You all right” he asked, the concern in his voice cranking up a few notches.
Adele grunted, rubbing ruefully at her shoulder. “Fine,” she muttered. Then she flanked Lafitte and with Leoni at her side, they pushed him along in search of a more private space for questioning.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Something about the way they smiled brought to mind the leer of a corpse. He strolled through the first-class car, his eyes ahead, not quite glancing to the left or the right. He kept an easy, carefree grin on his lips. Kind eyes.
That’s what some people said. They thought he had kind eyes.
But behind those eyes… what lurked in his thoughts… perhaps not so kind. No—not so kind at all.
He smirked to himself as if recollecting an inside joke; the authorities couldn’t find him. They were back on the other train. But that was the beauty of this: he never stayed on the same train. No. That would be too easy. This new train… this one provided all sorts of opportunities. He passed an older gentleman who was chatting with one of the waitresses who shuttled food from the dining car to those too lazy to get it themselves. The kind-eyed man felt a sudden jolt of disgust. He glanced over, frowning, appraising. Was this the next one?
Could it be?
The older man looked up, caught his eye, and then smiled. A frail hand gave a soft little wave.
No. Perhaps not.
The kind-eyed man continued on his way, giving a quick dip of his head in return greeting. He neared the back of the first-class car, near a felt-covered card table where a small group of players were shuffling a deck and preparing for another round of Texas hold’em.
He stepped forward, curious. The kind-eyed man always did enjoy poker, in all its variations. His life reminded him of a poker face. He knew how to bluff, deflect, how to hide what he was holding most of all. Certainly, hiding in plain sight was an acquired and crucial skill given his pastime. He’d finally summoned the nerve to start… Years of hoping, dreaming, of watching degrading images and videos on his computer late at night. But the thoughts were no longer enough; the pictures and movies—poorly acted—didn’t satisfy. Even some of the actual videos he’d found, of the real thing…
Revenge in its purest form… But it didn’t provide the same… satisfaction. The same fulfillment. Nor was it a true vengeance against the guilty parties.
No, now that he’d summoned up the nerve, this—he realized—was far, far better. Anyone who’d ever said revenge wasn’t satisfying had never experienced it or were simply lying through their teeth. It satisfied more than sex, more than drugs, more than power. It satisfied in a deeper way than any might imagine. So deep, it almost felt like it welled from his soul.
A woman caught him watching and for a moment, she got a glimpse of his eyes. He cursed, glancing sharply away, trying to shove his thoughts down, to focus on smiling, nodding. But the woman stared at him, then sniffed, raising an eyebrow and turning to mutter darkly to a friend next to her.
The kind-eyed man heard the words “leering… creep…”
He frowned, fixing his gaze on her for a moment. She glanced up and scowled even deeper and turned promptly to mutter to her friend some more.
The kind-eyed man smiled widely now. He’d found his next message. Those pretty lips, painted with lipstick more expensive than some people’s rent, those manicured fingers which likely hadn’t done a real day’s work in their life—eventually, soon, they would be before him on a seat of judgment. And he’d already decided the verdict.
Guilty as sin.
The judgment would have to wait. Not yet—preparations were in order. But soon—tonight, perhaps? Yes, very soon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Adele, Leoni, and Isaac Lafitte had sequestered in the staff break room in the dormitory car for the train employees. The break room had been cleared, and the large television was now off, its blank, black face staring down at the table where Adele, Leoni, and Isaac sat.
Isaac wasn’t in cuffs just yet, and he was still ruefully massaging at his throat where Leoni had jammed his thumbs.
“Do you know why you’re here?” said Adele.
“Bitch, do I look like a clairvoyant?”
Leoni frowned. “Careful with your words.”
But Adele held up a hand. “No, it’s fine,” she said. “Let him express himself. Just know, Mr. Lafitte, right now, all that’s standing between you and a prison cell back in Paris is me. I’m here to determine if you’re a person of interest.”
“A prison cell?” he spat. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t do anything.” The man’s face was now beet-red, and he had a thin unintentionally monk-like circle of hair due to male-pattern baldness. His nose was bulging, his chin jutting in defiance. Everything about the hue of his skin suggested it had been well treated with more than one drink from the dining car.
Adele held up a finger. “For one, you slammed a door into me.”
“Didn’t know you were cops,” he replied.
“I announced myself when I came.”
“You said Deegee sigh. What’s that supposed to mean?” He seemed ready to add another expletive at the end, but Leoni raised an eyebrow and the man left the sentence as it was.
“DGSI,” Adele said. “Federal investigations.”
“Pshaw. I don’t know anything about that. Why should I? Do I look like a government employee to you? Crooks, the lot of you.”
Adele massaged the bridge of her nose. Why couldn’t these interviews ever be easy? “Look,” she said, “Mr. Lafitte, I’m investigating two murders.”
“Likely murders,” Leoni inserted.
“Right. Likely murders. And you…” she emphasized the word, “are the one common point between the two.”
He snorted. “Impossible. Get better at your job.”
“I’d really like to. Do you think you could help me with that?” Adele said, proud that she’d managed to keep most of the exasperation from her tone. “Were you on the LuccaRail two days ago?”
“Course,” he spat again. Then he dipped his head and massaged his temples, shaking his head. “Not good to be cooped up like this,” he said, tugging at his collar again and glancing around. “Not good at all.”
Leoni frowned at Adele but she pressed. “Sir, LuccaRail, were you on it two days ago?”
“Yeah, so what? I was on it two weeks before that as well, and two weeks prior to that in addition. What of it?”
Adele blinked. “Hold on, you were on the LuccaRail three times in the last month?”
“Six,” he retorted. “I ride the train. Often.”
“How often?”
“Every day sometimes. Depends.” He pulled at his collar again, his face reddening further, and he shook his head, causing his sweaty hair to shift and sway. “It’s too hot in here,” he murmured. “Can we open a window?”
To her surprise, Leoni hopped to his feet, moved over to the nearest window, and cracked it a bit. Lafitte didn’t provide much in the way of a thank-you, but at least he didn’t curse them out again. He inclined his face toward the open window, breathing softly as if taking in the breeze.